Drawn years ago now, penciled in over countless meetings:
The shape of eyebrows, the curve behind ears,
The meeting places of skin - knees and underarms,
Stray hairs on thighs, the arrangement of moles.
Notes that assembled into something that became
You:
your skin,
your eyebrows,
your thighs.
But since it all ended, I have been assembling you
Out of words cramped into postcards from Canada
You tell me only the general now - you tell me:
I've dyed my hair blonde and bobbed it short
I've lost my tan, I've bags under my eyes from lack
of sleep, I'm smoking again, but I'm going to they gym,
Things that scare me, unknown things,
Not additions to my sketches but erasings -
Not news, but things I no longer know about you
Reminders, two or three every month, that you are gone
In the most essential way; that you are dissapearing
Day by day, even in my mind. A long, slow departure
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